


That's a Shame

by Skeletical



Series: Kieran's Moments [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, One Shot, backstory exploration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 01:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17479061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skeletical/pseuds/Skeletical
Summary: “I joined the army, but uh… that didn’t work out well. Then I fell in with some outlaws. They got killed and I fell in with the O’Driscolls. They gave me a choice: Ride with ‘em or die. So… Wasn’t much of a choice.”A 2 chaptered one-shot exploring Kieran’s backstory before he ends up with the van der Linde gang.





	That's a Shame

**Author's Note:**

> This oneshot isn't beta'd, so if you find mistakes/errors, I'm sorry! I'll probably come back and edit them out later but for now I just really wanted to post this because it saddens me to see so little Kieran content. Especially the non-romantic Kieran stuff is lacking. So I figured I might as well do something about that. :)

Kieran isn’t sure how it happened, but when he rides into camp after pulling off a successful stage coach robbery by himself, he’s greeted by the typical stench that accompanies death and the corpses of his fellow outlaws.

 

He pauses, looks around and eventually allows himself to slide off of the stolen mare’s back, his hand lingering on the strong neck before he gathers his courage to approach the bloodbath. His hand comes to rest on his revolver’s holster, his heart beating in his chest with uncertainty and most of all anxiety.

 

There are still burning embers in the campfire so it mustn’t have happened too long ago. Kieran swallows, trying to ignore the smell that permeates his nostrils aggressively. By God, what happened here? The young man moves to crouch down next to one of the bodies, trying not to think about the fact that Martin and he had swapped life stories the night before as he inspected him. Well, it wasn’t hard to tell, really. Rifle still in his hand, Martin had been shot dead, judging by the bullet holes that littered the man’s chest.

 

A swift sweep of his gaze and it was obvious: all of the men here got shot.

 

Just like that, Kieran realises he’s all by himself. Again.

 

His hands tremble as he goes through Martin’s pockets in search of some money the man still had on him. He hates that he has to do this; has to… disrespect the other like this, but what good would money or valuables be to a dead man?

 

Still, it doesn’t sit well with Kieran.

 

He doesn’t find much, not on any of the men in the camp. They must’ve already been looted, but that means… The young outlaw rises to his full height, his gaze once again going around the small camp. With hurried steps, he makes his way over to James’ tent, knowing that the chest with the money was kept there. He crouches down quickly, his hands searching underneath the cot until he finds the key amongst all the other possessions James kept there. Once he had that, he turned around and rose back up, unlocking the small box on the crate that served as a makeshift table.

 

A couple of stacks of dollars and some loose coins were revealed when Kieran lifted the lid and he sighed a breath of mild relief. At least there was still that. Telling himself that it wasn’t stealing from his friends, he took the bills and pocketed them before he gathered the coins and did the same with those. Right. Okay.

 

Now what?

 

He can’t go into the nearest town; he didn’t doubt that the feller he had robbed had made it back there and told the local authorities about the robbery. Kieran had covered his face with the worn, blue bandana around his neck but if the man remembered his clothing, then it didn’t matter much. He couldn’t go into town, not right now.

 

So what other options did he have?

 

“Well, let’s see…” He mutters to himself, putting a hand to his patchy beard as he thinks, “Prob’ly best to get away from here, first of all… Ride east? Hope I don’t run into the fellers that did this.”

 

That was another problem, wasn’t it? Who had done this and why? If it was just a simple robbery gone sour then fine… Kieran could understand that. He is, by no means, happy about it. But he can understand that much. But if someone did this deliberately, targeted their little ragtag bunch then Kieran was going to have to worry. He can’t imagine who would, though. They’re nothing much than a few outlaws banding together because it just seemed safer that way. Hell, Kieran joined them only because they seemed like halfway decent folks and hunting five men gives more pause than hunting one.

 

It’s a damn shame, it is.

 

Kieran sighs, “Can’t bury ‘em neither… I’m sorry, fellers. I am.” He says to his dead compatriots as he walks back towards his new horse. He looks at her for a moment, appreciating her very briefly before he goes and grabs the saddle next to the hitching post. It had been sitting there after his own horse Mabon had died a couple days ago. He hadn’t been well and it had worried Kieran to hell and back. In the end, there hadn’t been anything the man could’ve have done for the stallion and he still missed the horse something fierce but he had needed to get a new one, if not for companionship, in the very least for the practicality. Walking everywhere wasn’t an option in a land as vast as this. Thankfully for him, there were enough stagecoaches in these parts.

Besides, this horse wasn’t suitable for pulling coaches. She’d be much better off as a riding horse.

 

Wasting no time, Kieran secured his saddle on the mare before he hoisted himself up and in it. By the looks of it, most of the other mounts had already fled off or were taken, except for Martin’s horse. Gilder was still hitched, saddled and all. Poor thing. Kieran hesitated for a moment. Should he take the stallion with him? Maybe he could sell the horse to a stable on his way… Ah, damn. It always saddened him when he had to let go of a horse but he doubts he can give two horses the proper care they deserve while he tries to find a place for them to… well… live.

 

Quickly, Kieran slides off of his horse again, untying Gilder before he climbs back on once more. He ties Gilder’s reins to his saddle’s horn before he takes the mare’s reins and forces her into action gently with a squeeze of his legs. Off they were, sticking to forest areas as much as possible. He would never say that he was paranoid, but instead… careful. Why take the roads where the law might be looking for him?

 

They ride until the sun turns orange and the sky is painted in pinks and purples. That’s when Kieran decides to set up his travel tent and roll out his bedroll. He gets a small fire going before he turns his attention to Gilder and… well, she needed a name still.

 

He tries to think of one while he rubs off the worst of her sweat with handfuls of grass, “You’re a pretty lil’ lady, miss. Don’t get me wrong, though, you’re strong too!” Kieran feels at ease when he talks at the horses, knowing full well that to anyone looking, he looked like a goddamn fool. But talking to the animals? It’s a lot easier than talking to people is. People with their hidden agenda, their secret thoughts and their tendency to complicate things. Horses were easy. They like you or they don’t, and they’ll let you know. But Kieran knows how to win a horse’s heart. Or at least its respect if not its stomach.

 

“Very pretty…” He repeats to the horse when she presses her nose into his shoulder affectionately, clearly appreciating the minor grooming he was giving her. The man reaches up and pats her neck, thinking for a moment longer before he smiles.

 

“I think you’d make a good Branwen.” He tells the mare, remembering some stories his Pappy would tell him when he was a little boy. About some Gaelic deities or some other. Of course, they weren’t real. But they made for good stories. And Kieran remembers he liked Branwen, the goddess of love and beauty. He leans forward, rests against the sturdy horse before he presses a kiss to her coarse coat, “You’re a good girl, Branwen.” He says to her, tasting the name on his tongue and finding that it suits her before he pulls away and simply smiles.

 

“Reckon it’s about time you two fill up your bellies with some grass! I’m sorry, I didn’t bring any hay or nothin’.” He tells the two animals apologetically, watching him as they just stand there. He chuckles quietly, thinking that maybe he’s finally officially losing his mind after losing his place in the world for the third time in his twenty-something existence.

 

“Never mind me.” He says, not sure if he’s addressing the horses or himself, but he makes quick work of unsaddling the animals before he turns away from them and goes to sit at his little campfire, feeding it some twigs that he managed to gather. When he’s finally sat, the realisation that his friends are dead starts to finally dawn on him and Kieran’s mood drops. He managed to forget for a little while; first with the worry that came with getting out of that place and finding something new and then when he could focus completely on the horses.

 

But now, with nothing else to occupy his mind, his thoughts stray to the men he’d run with. Sure, Kieran had never been a ‘good’ outlaw, as James had put it. He wasn’t as ruthless as Simon could be, couldn’t even pretend. What Kieran did have going for him was that he was good at following. He was good at keeping his mouth shut and pointing a gun. But he could never kill an innocent. He could steal without anyone noticing just fine, but he couldn’t beat someone into submission to get them to hand over their money.

 

Still… He had liked the group. James, Martin, Simon and Elijah. He doesn’t quite manage to cry, but his chest does feel a little tight as he sees their faces in his mind’s eye.

 

 _“Go get y’rself a goddamn horse, boy. Your mopin’ is startin’ t’get on my nerves,”_ Simon had told him gruffly, just before Kieran had made his way out of camp to go do exactly that. Elijah had told him good luck with a good-natured slap on the back as he went, _“Don’t be getting’ back without one now, y’hear?”_ And Kieran had laughed and told them he’d show them just how good of a horse thief he was. That’d he’d get a horse _and_ some money to boot, just y’all wait.

 

They had almost been like a family, Kieran supposed. As much as they could’ve been. He hadn’t run with them very long. Maybe a year? If even that. But it’d felt secure with the group. Not like the army where every fellow soldier was just dying to kick Kieran to the ground and declare themselves Biggest Baddest Man of the platoon. The thought of it alone left a sour taste on his tongue.

 

He shakes his head, gaze on the flames in front of him, “Ain’t no point now.” He mutters, trying his hardest to force the thoughts from his mind.

 

The past is done and over with, Kieran is a firm believer of that. Of course, he tells himself that and when he does, he conveniently forgets that he still has his mammy’s gold wedding band on him. Or that he always names his horses after characters from the stories his pappy told him.

 

Kieran remembers to feed the fire only because he notices the light starting to dim and he tosses some of the pine needles onto the small flames to get them going again. Within seconds, the fire rises and burns brightly, keeping him warm as the air around him cools. He pulls the long black coat he’s wearing a little tighter around himself. It’s starting to get a little bit colder; the summer is nearing its end which meant the days were sweltering but the nights steadily dropped their temperatures as the weeks went on.

 

The outlaw has a hard time convincing himself it’s safe to get some shuteye and so he sits by his fire long after the sun has gone down, tossing fuel on the flames and taking sips of the whiskey bottle that he fished out of his saddle bag. Even when dawn starts breaking, Kieran is still sitting and staring at the dying fire. The horses are still asleep; standing beside each other. The man glances at them briefly before he smiles. Turns out it would have been safe to sleep… Well. No point in it now.

 

He sighs and rises to his feet, turning to his unused tent before he gets to work with breaking up his little makeshift camp. When the bedroll and tent are securely fastened to his saddle once more, Kieran nibbles on some biscuits for breakfast while he works on preparing the horses for the day. He still isn’t sure where they’re heading, but he’ll be damned if he sticks around. Sometimes even a day ride away wasn’t far enough for some lawmen to give up. Though Kieran doubts that’s the case in this particular situation, he can’t help but be on his toes regardless. He has to watch his own back again and that? That’s honestly nerve wrecking.

 

“We just gotta keep goin’, for now.” He tells Branwen, resting his forehead against her neck briefly after he finishes his biscuits, his hat getting pushed back on his head and sitting askew but he pays no mind to it. He takes a step back, wanting to inspect the horse once more before he gets back on her for the rest of the day when he notices that maybe he made a mistake.

 

His eyes widen slightly as his gaze falls between the cream coloured horse’s hindlegs and he laughs, feeling like a fool. In the chaos of yesterday, he didn’t even notice that what he presumed was a mare, was in fact a stallion.

 

“And- ha, and to think I called ya after a goddess!” He exclaims, hitting the palm of his hand to his head. The horse throws her- er, _his_ – head a little, almost as if he’s agreeing to Kieran’s admission of stupidity with a nod.

 

“Well, I’m mighty sorry, mister, I swear,” The man tells the horse, patting him reassuringly, “Name still fits ya, though, don’t it? You _are_ beautiful and heh, kinda sweet…” Nothing else for it, was there? “Guess yer still Branwen. My apologies, again.” Kieran smiles, shaking his head as he finally hoists himself back up in the saddle. He leans down, pats his neck and sits back up. Instead of using Gilder’s reins, he attached a longer rope to the horse and tied it to his saddle’s horn so the horse has more space to walk today.

 

“Well, boys, if you’re ready…” The young man mutters before he urges Branwen into a light trot with the kick of his legs.

 

God, how silly was he? And to think he had worked in stables… Couldn’t even tell the difference between a mare and a stallion… Maybe there was a reason he’d been thrown out beyond the fact that he lost his parents after all.

 

Kieran doesn’t like where his thoughts go so he shakes his head and tries to focus on the trek. He follows his small compass for a little while, fidgeting with his hat occasionally and keeping an ear out for other people.

 

Around noon, he figures they created enough distance between them and the old camp and he steers Branwen back onto the manmade roads. He still hasn’t found a stable but he hopes to when he gets to a crossroads where a sign points into the direction of a ranch. That will have to do, Kieran decides and he heads onto the path without any further ado.

 

The sun is out, the sky is a clear blue and Kieran’s black heavy coat is so warm. Gilder huffs and makes it increasingly clearer that he doesn’t want to continue walking anymore, if the pulling on the rope was any indication. The horse between the outlaw’s legs is a lot more mellow; he occasionally shakes out his mane but he does pant a little, suffering with the heat more than the rider-less Gilder is.

 

“Yer a spoiled one, aren’tcha.” Kieran says to the grey Tennessee walker, shaking his head a little in exasperation, “But I guess we can take a little break, because yer so insistent, Gilder.” The horse doesn’t respond in anyway but he allows himself to be led a little off of the road, his head immediately dipping to pull at the grass that the two horses were now standing on. The young man gives Branwen a reassuring pat to the neck again before he gets off of him for a bit, so that the horse can rest and eat. His own stomach was starting to rumble but there wasn’t much that Kieran had brought in terms of food… So he opens up his saddle bag, hoping for anything as he searches through it. He comes up with a small, half empty bottle of gin and a can of sweetened corn. It’s when he pulls it out, he realises that it’s the last food and drink he has left. After trying to pawn off Gilder, Kieran was going to have to ride into a town and get some supplies, there’s no putting it off any longer.

 

The thought still saddens him, that he has to get rid of a beautiful horse with so much personality as the grey stallion. Especially considering his owner got killed a day before but… Kieran has no use for two horses. It worries him; you never know where a horse might end up and with who, but the outlaw was just going to have to trust that Gilder would be bought by a somewhat honourable person. At least someone who would treat him right, if nothing else.

 

The man takes the opportunity to take off his coat and roll it up before he stores it on Branwen securely, breathing a sigh of relief. He even unties the handkerchief around his neck and instead secures it to his belt so his now exposed neck has some air to breathe. A breeze blows past him and Kieran revels in it for a moment, appreciating the cool it brings with it. He thinks, maybe, if he can find a lake or a creek, he can go fishing for his dinner tonight… He tries hard to remember if he saw any body of water anywhere near these parts. He’s so wrapped up in it, even, that he doesn’t notice the men creeping out of the trees behind him. It takes Branwen startling for Kieran to finally look up and turn around, his hand reaching for the revolver at his hip quickly in response.

 

He isn’t fast enough; his fingers close around the grip and he pulls the weapon out but the panic that takes him over at the sight of five men pointing their own weapons at him and a sixth running at him full speed makes Kieran fumble. He squeezes the trigger too soon, the bullet shoots off and lodges itself in the dirt near the running man’s feet.

 

The others holler as Kieran gets tackled to the ground with an audible ‘oof’.

 

“G-geddoffa me!” The young man yells, struggling to push the larger man off of himself. He doesn’t register Branwen and Gilder’s startled whinnies; too busy trying not to get punched in the face.

 

“Shut up, boy!” The man laughs and it’s an ugly laugh, one that makes Kieran’s heart freeze. He whines as he flails his arms in a desperate attempt to keep the assaulting fists away from his face.

“I ain’t got nothin’, mister!” Kieran manages to get out before his arm slips and the assailant manages to finally connect his fist with the outlaw’s face. He groans, the punch briefly whitening the young man’s vision before he yelps when he’s pulled up by the collar, his shoulders lifting off of the ground slightly.

 

“Wh-” He starts to say but his mouth clicks shut when he realises the other spit onto his cheek.

 

“I said shut up, boy.” He growls and Kieran immediately goes limp. His breathing comes raggedly as the panic in his gut only grows. His eyes dart to the side, looking for the revolver that he dropped when he got knocked down. His attention is immediately forced back, though, when the man shakes him roughly, “Looks like you got yourself some nice horses there, son.”

 

Kieran groans and gets another punch for his efforts, “LISTEN when I’m talking to you, boy.”

 

“-‘m sorry, mister…” He yelps, his vision swimming and he forgets about the spit rolling down his cheek slowly.

 

“Ya don’t need two horses now, do you?”

 

“N-no, I-”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Y’see, these fellers and I, we’re a lil’ down on our luck. We lost our good friend Thomas last night. Horrible, really. But see, when he ran off, he took some of our horses with him.”

 

Kieran squints up, managing to discern some of the features on this man. His nose is big and crooked, his dark hair looks greasy and falls past his jaw. He is in no way a man that Kieran could describe as handsome.

 

“Th-that’s a real shame.”

 

“It sure is, son, it sure is. Now, look. Way I see it, you don’t be needin’ two horses now, do ya?”

 

The younger man shakes his head, hesitant and unsure where this is going. Both of his hands are grasping the wrist that’s attached to the fist holding him in place and he quietly hopes that maybe he can pry himself loose… But then he remembers there’s more than just one of them surrounding him.

 

“Answer me!” The roar is so unexpected and sudden that Kieran can’t help but flinch, quick to open his mouth and reply.

 

“N-no, sir!”

 

“No’s correct. You especially won’t be needin’ two when you’re dead.”

 

He feels stupid and like a coward and _weak_ but all the younger man can manage in reply to that is a whimper and a feeble attempt at prying the other man’s fist open. The five other men laugh around them and it seems like they’ve moved closer since the struggle.

 

“Please, mister, I don’t-” He starts, ready to beg for his life but he gets cut off when the man leans closer, his breath smelling horrid and it almost makes Kieran gag. The only thing that stops him from doing so is the fear of getting killed for it.

 

“You don’t want to die, do ya?”

 

“N-no…”

 

“Well, we O’Driscoll Boys are down a man, what with Thomas bein’ gone an’ all,” He starts and the grin that finds its way onto his face makes Kieran even more anxious, “How’s about you fill that spot, boy?”

 

“Fill that spot?” He squeaks, followed by a moan of misery when he gets a headbutt for his efforts.

 

“That’s what I said. Ride with us, or die. But I mean, if ya don’t want it… We can still kill ya instead, if you prefer.” 

 

No, Kieran does not prefer that and he shakes his head to show it, “I-I’ll join you fellers.”

 

The grin grows wider and then all of a sudden, Kieran gets shoved back to the ground and he groans, rolling onto his side as he tries to get some air back into his lungs after it was forcefully knocked out of him. The man steps away from him, “What’s yer name?” He asks, moving to pick up Kieran’s revolver from the dirt.

 

“K-Kieran… Kieran Duffy.”

 

“Irish?” One of the other men pipes up and that single word is enough to hear that he himself is from Ireland.

 

The young outlaw finally sits back up, his mind reeling as he stares at the group before he shakes his head a little, “Just- half… My pa, he-”

 

“Ah, that’s good enough then.”

 

It’s enough to get Kieran to shut his mouth. He pushes himself onto his feet and his legs feel a little wobbly. He attributes it to the amount of hits he’d taken to the head and reminds himself not to think about it too much.

 

“Well, Kieran Duffy… Welcome to the gang.” The greasy man says, inspecting the younger man’s revolver briefly before he hands it to someone else in the group, telling him to keep it safe ‘for their newest member’.

 

The O’Driscoll Boys, huh… He had heard of them before. A notorious gang; big enough to cover several territories. His own band of misfits had made sure to stay well away from them as much as they could… And now, he was running with them, it seemed.

 

Everything goes pretty fast then and before he knows it, he’s back on Branwen, riding in the middle of the group. They all make sure to keep him trapped between them so he can’t run off, but to be honest, Kieran knows that even if he’d had the opportunity to try, he wouldn’t. With his luck, he’d likely get shot in the back before he makes it as far as ten feet.

 

The feller that had knocked him down was now riding Gilder and the young man isn’t sure what to make of that. He isn’t sure if he likes seeing anyone but Martin on that horse. He keeps that to himself though.

 

“You the outlaw type at all, kid?” Someone asks him and Kieran smiles a little, despite himself. He shrugs, keeping his gaze on Branwen’s ears, “Sorta.” He replies, “Been one for a little over a year. I didn’t think I’d end up riding with fellers like you, though.” He says honestly before he clears his throat, “A big gang, I mean.”

 

A low snicker rises behind him and Kieran can’t help it when his head drops a little as he pulls his shoulders up just a tad in his insecurity.

 

“Yer nothin’ more than a horse thief, I can tell.” The Irishman says loudly, “But I s’pose that’s fine, isn’t it fellas?”

 

“As long as he can shoot straight, who cares.” A gruff man replies, his hat pulled down low over his brow, “Thomas couldn’t even do that much.”

 

“Thank the Lord, that made it easier to shoot ‘im.”

 

“Still don’t understand how he thought he could get away with stealin’ Colm’s fuckin’ horse and ridin’ off into the sunset, ha!”

 

Kieran stays silent, following the exchange with mild interest. So, that Thomas had tried to cut loose, it seemed… His heart sank a little. Cutting loose wasn’t appreciated then. _Good Lord, Kieran, what did you get yourself into this time?_

 

“So, can you?”

 

It takes the young man a moment to realise the question is directed to him, his eyes blinking in confusion before he coughs, “Uh-” He starts, “Well, sorta? I’m… better with horses, truth be told. But I can hold my own alright. I was with the army for a lil’ while.” He admits.

 

“Horses?” Someone repeats.

 

“Army?” Someone else echoes.

 

Kieran feels the corners of his mouth tug up in a nervous smile, “Yeah.” He says but leaves it at that. He’s saved from more questions when the man in the front interrupts the Irishman who is halfway through asking the newest addition to the group about his sharpshooting skills.

 

“Shut the FUCK up back there. I _will_ shoot you boys if ya keep fuckin’ around.”

 

Everyone does as they’re told and Kieran wonders if his assailant is in fact the leader of the group.

 

“Sorry, Colm.” Someone mutters a second later and the apology goes completely unacknowledged save for a kick he gets from the person riding beside him.

 

This is how Kieran gets introduced to the next chapter of his life; one that he absolutely comes to despise.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find me over at tumblr on skeletical-writing.tumblr.com


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